


Tactician Troubles

by Artemis_Dreamer



Series: The Squishy Apocalypse [3]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Cop Stereotypes, Dessert & Sweets, Drabble, Fat Robots, Fluff, Glitchy Battle Computers, I'm Going to Hell, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Weight Gain, doughnuts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-25
Updated: 2017-02-25
Packaged: 2018-09-26 20:27:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9921008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artemis_Dreamer/pseuds/Artemis_Dreamer
Summary: Jazz was grateful for the visor hid his optics as he warily eyed his conjunx's frame. There was no way in Pit that Prowl hadn't noticed, but how the Pit hadn't Prowl noticed?---In which Prowl is taking Ratchet's medical advice a bit too seriously, and Jazz certainly isn't complaining.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Plugs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Plugs/gifts).



> WARNING: This is a work of fetish fiction, involving unhealthy eating, weight gain, and implied belly stuffing.
> 
> Don't like, don't read.

"Remind me again why you're eatin' those?" Jazz drawled, arching an optic ridge behind his visor. He was perched on the corner of his desk, keen optics appraising his conjunx. His Prowler was as dutiful as ever, seated at his own desk with his helm bowed over a sizeable stack of data pads.

Prowl unhurriedly finished reading the information on the screen of his datapad and then swallowed another mouthful of delicious pastry before he replied. After all, there was something amusing about watching Jazz fidget impatiently. 

"Ratchet believes that increasing my fuel intake will stabilize my battle computer." The tactician replied dryly, having already answered that same question fifteen times over the course of the last decaorn - four of those inquiries had been from Jazz. 

Ratchet had performed some processor analysis, and concluded that fuel intake played a part in the errors that caused his systems to crash. The dangerous glitching of his battle computer could be reduced, though not entirely eliminated, by ensuring that there was excess fuel in his systems to supply his power-hungry processor during information surges.

"And why does it hafta be those?" Jazz waved a flippant servo in the direction of the box on Prowl's desk, a box filled with the human pastries known as doughnuts. 

Prowl levelled a withering glare at his irritatingly inquisitive conjunx. Curiosity was one thing. Asking the same questions repeatedly was something else entirely. Something very annoying.

Still, he was aware that the only way he'd get any peace and quiet was to actually answer the question. "Spike informed me that these were traditional." He still wasn't entirely sure what that tradition was, but had been too polite to refuse the young man’s initial offer of fuel.

Besides, he observed, taking another generous bite from a jelly-filled confection, every one of the numerous varieties that he'd sampled so far had proven to be delicious. 

He had developed a particular fondness for vanilla dip.

Jazz hid a small smirk behind his servo. Traditional was one way of putting it. Human subcultures possessed a number of interesting stereotypes, and one of those involved the relationship between law enforcement officers and doughnuts. Given that Prowl's alt mode was that of a police vehicle, Spike probably thought that he was being humorous. 

Jazz was just thankful that Prowl had yet to clue in. Praxians often became dangerously passive-aggressive when offended, and something told the saboteur that yes, Prowl would definitely be offended. 

He made a mental note to expunge his browsing history from Teletraan I before Prowl's next login.

"That they are, my mech," Jazz replied with a grin, now composed enough to keep the amusement from his tone. "But don'tcha think you should ease up a bit?"

Prowl's daily intake of those round little pastries could best be quantified by boxes, and whether the Praxian had realized it or not, this continued overindulgence was taking a toll on his frame.

"I see no reason to," Prowl replied, tone matter-of-fact as he returned his attention to the datapad on his desk. As entertaining as this conversation was, there was a great deal of work to be done – especially considering how haphazardly Jazz usually completed his reports. They would likely require considerable editing.

Jazz was grateful for the visor hid his optics as he warily eyed his conjunx's frame. There was no way in Pit that Prowl hadn't noticed, but how the Pit hadn't Prowl noticed?

The Praxian's formerly slender frame had increased considerably in mass, and the excess weight had centered itself primarily around the tactician’s waistline and hips. His once-defined chassis now bulged outward, forming a comfortable belly that rested atop his rounded thighs, and the burgeoning width of his curvaceous hips made Jazz wonder how exactly Prowl had fit his aft between the armrests of that office chair.

And dear Primus above, the softness of his faceplates was adorable. Who would have guessed that Prowl had dimples?

Jazz sauntered across the office, coming to a stop beside his conjunx’s chair. His servos playfully groped the tactician's love handles, appreciating the incredible warmth of the soft plating. If it was at all possible, Jazz would have sworn that Prowl was growing softer by the orn.

Or maybe it was possible? Realizing that he’d been lost in thought, Jazz clarified his earlier statement. “How about this reason?” The words were accompanied by a particularly firm squeeze to his conjunx’s sides.

Prowl stiffened beneath the saboteur's touch. "That," he informed Jazz tersely, "constitutes inappropriate workplace behaviour." 

"Really?" Undeterred, Jazz continued to explore his conjunx's newfound curves, his servos teasing affectionately at each fold and roll. "Or are you just shy? Because you still look beautiful, sweetspark."

The tension visibly eased from Prowl's frame, reassured by the saboteur's words.

He knew exactly how fattening these pastries were, and was well aware of the impact that they had on his frame. He knew that he was overdoing it, but he simply couldn't bring himself to stop. There were so many delicious varieties, and his rating system was still incomplete – he had yet to determine whether crullers ranked above or below eclairs.

Besides, everymech kept bringing him boxes full of doughnuts, seemingly without provocation. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe had left three boxes on his desk this morning, with a pleading note asking not to be punished for pranking Ratchet. Bribery was a tactic that Prowl thoroughly despised - the twins were currently pouting in the brig.

Prime himself had brought the tactician a box around lunchtime, stating that he had bought them as part of his new initiative to patronize local businesses and improve Autobot-human relations.

Even Wheeljack had brought him a boxful earlier in the afternoon, though they had been so horrifically burnt that it was likely that the inventor had made them himself. In any case, they had still been delicious.

Prowl pondered the implications of this behaviour. If everymech was bringing him pastries, but everymech was aware of the changes that they caused to his frame, was this some sort of conspiracy? Usually Red Alert was the paranoid one, but -

Before Prowl could become too flustered, Jazz kissed him, a teasing but firm meeting of lipplates. Before Prowl could object, Jazz seated himself comfortably in the tactician's ample lap. And before Prowl could complain, Jazz took another doughnut from the box on the desk and stuffed it into his conjunx's mouth. 

"You just said-!" Prowl spluttered with indignation, removing the doughnut. Vanilla dip - of course Jazz knew his favourite.

"Ah changed ma mind." The saboteur interrupted, nuzzling against Prowl's soft cheekplate. "You're even more beautiful like this."

Jazz loved every inch of his chubby Praxian conjunx. It almost seemed like Prowl's frame had been meant to carry excess weight, because this new size suited him perfectly. Given the correlation between fuel intake and the stability of the tactician’s battle computer, it was very possible that this was in fact his natural state.

Prowl turned his helm to hide the flush of energon that had risen to his faceplates. Only Jazz could elicit such an unprofessional reaction. He knew that his conjunx was being completely honest. Jazz was capricious, but their relationship was built on trust – neither would lie to the other. 

The saboteur continued to caress Prowl's plump, heavy chassis as the tactician continued to savour the doughnut, enjoying the sweet vanilla icing, the chewy, freshly baked dough, and the oddly pleasant sensation of the multicolored sprinkles crunching between his dentae.

Prowl's engine rumbled with pleasure beneath his conjunx's touch. This behaviour was undeniably enjoyable, but it was also wholly unprofessional. Jazz, however, seemed completely confident that he wouldn't be reprimanded for it.

Was he becoming too lenient with his conjunx? Prowl pondered sending the saboteur to the brig for an orn or two, just to be on the safe side.

However, between the sweet taste of pastry in his mouth and the gentle servos on his chassis, he couldn't bring himself to be even the least bit annoyed.

"Remind me to thank Spike." Prowl's words were dry but genuine as he pressed a kiss to the saboteur’s cheekplate. If he had known earlier that human pastries could not only stabilize his battle computer, but also elicit such genuine warmth from his flighty conjunx – well, he would likely have been huge by now.

Sure, Jazz thought wryly, reciprocating the kiss with a peck to the tactician’s nasal ridge. Only if you remind me to warn Spike about making cop jokes.

Prowl was perfect, glitches and softness and all. If it were up to Jazz, then no one, be they mech or human, would ever say otherwise.

**Author's Note:**

> For the anonymous meep. Here's the squishy Prowl you requested, with a bit of Jazz/Prowl for good measure. Hope you like it!
> 
> The requests that I've gotten are being written in chronological order - TommorowsHero, your requests will be coming next, followed by the request from Twobit. I apologize for making you wait.
> 
> If people don't mind there being a bit of a wait, I'm still taking requests - Prime, Animated or G1, with any mech you prefer.
> 
> Any and all feedback is appreciated.


End file.
